Return
by ibohemianam
Summary: Mild spoilers for "Skyfall." M's thoughts when Bond reappears in her flat.
1. Chapter 1

_In case you somehow missed it in the summary, there are **mild spoilers** for _Skyfall_ ahead._

_I saw _Skyfall_ yesterday thoroughly enjoyed the expansion on the relationship between M and Bond. Judi Dench has always been a favorite of mine. I just wanted to grind out a quick one-shot about her thoughts when Bond appears in her flat after the incidents at the MI6 headquarters. Everything's written from my terrible memory, so I apologize in advance for any errors!_

* * *

He looked a bloody mess.

Impeccable hair mussed, positively dreadful paisley shirt crumpled, stains not entirely covered by a leather jacket seemingly stripped directly from the poor bovine itself. Blue eyes bloodshot—from lack of sleep or too much drink? She didn't care to think.

She told herself that this relief she was feeling came from the knowledge what 007 was back. MI6's best agent. Nothing more.

So she snaps, "Where the hell have you been?" letting her rightful irritation, anger, and _fear_ lace her words.

"I sent a postcard," he returns in the same vein, "you didn't receive it?"

She doesn't know whether to laugh or rage.

He, understandably, turns the conversation to Turkey and the train and the one decision that began this entire mess.

She can't say the two words that need to be said. That _she_ needs to say. No, she must remain distant, separate from this agent she has seen turn from man to stone. _An evolution you had instigated_, came the voice in her mind. She can't give voice to any of these thoughts, no matter how they whirl away inside her, burning, accusing.

She can only speak of standard operating protocol. And tell him that he needs a shower.

Then she walks away.

She pauses in the hall and closes her eyes, leaning against the wall and listening to the quiet sigh, the heavy footsteps, ponderous, broken as he shuts the door behind him.

007 was back.

But James Bond had not returned.

* * *

_I'd really appreciate it if you let me know what you think about this. Cheers!_


	2. Chapter 2

_I guess this is more than a one-shot... Spoilers for _Skyfall.

* * *

The train lurched beneath his feet, growling and chattering as he staggered drunkenly, scrabbling to find purchase on the roof's slick surface. Patrice reared above him, fists clasped together, madness born of desperation in his eyes.

He surged to his feet, leaning into the curve as the train careened around a stand of trees into open space above the Reichenbach.

Eve's voice rang in his ear, taut with strain, "I may have a shot."

"_What do you mean you _may_ have a shot?"_

"I might hit 007."

He gritted his teeth, locked in an embrace with Patrice, a dance equally matched. His shoulder throbbed, and he felt the blood spreading down his side, every strained breath greying his vision until only one object remained: the hard drive, hanging around the mercenary's neck, dangling so tantalizingly close.

"M, I may have a shot, but they're about to enter a tunnel."

He gasped out a garbled "_No_," that was torn away by the wind, and he spun, landing a ferocious backhand to Patrice's nose, feeling it crack satisfyingly beneath his fingers.

A low kick he didn't see coming, and he was on his back again, the heat radiating from the train's roof scorching his fingers. The world exploded in a brilliant flash of light.

"_M_!" Eve cried.

Patrice seized him by the collar but grunted in surprise when a fist caught him in the solar plexus. He could hear the echo as the first few railroad cars entered the tunnel. _Almost there_.

Then, three words.

"_Take the shot."_

He whirled in disbelief, and in that moment, he died.

"_Agent down."_

She tore the earpiece out and slammed it down on the table.

The Weeping Union Jack Bulldog stared impassively from beside her desk lamp.

Whirling around, she fled from Tanner's sympathetic gaze, crossing her arms and gazing out at the rain that had begun to pelt the window.

She'd killed him.

She'd killed 007.

She bit her lip hard to fight back the tears. He was an agent. Nothing more. Many had gone before him, and many more would follow. The words brought no comfort. She glared at her reflection in the window, at the lines that marked her face, the shadows under her eyes. _I'm too bloody old to do this anymore._ She pressed her lips together, watching them all but disappear into thin creases. _But who else can handle this madness? Tanner? Heavens, no. Under him, we may as well all speak Russian._

She drew in a shuddering breath, swallowed hard, then rearranged the lines on her face into a mask that covered her bleeding heart.

Turning decisively, she met Tanner's eyes and said quietly, "Prepare the report."

"Yes, M," he said softly, then added hesitantly, "His… obituary, M? Would you like me to—"

"—No." she replied shortly, turning back to the window as lightning arced across the sky, "I will write it. It is all I can do now for him now."

* * *

_Yes, I know that Reichenbach is in Switzerland. I just couldn't resist._


	3. Chapter 3

Her eyes had begun to blur two hours ago.

She told herself that it was mere exhaustion, that the sinking of her stomach was a completely normal physical response to her utter lack of appetite in the past week. Nothing more.

The little black cursor winked back at her, taking a life of its own beneath the black-and-white picture of the man whose startling blue eyes, though shaded grey, spoke accusation and wry humor in turns. There was life in those eyes, a gleam that the leeching of color could not remove.

Blinking rapidly, she scrolled down the document until only the flashing cursor remained at the top of her now-blank screen.

The Weeping Union Jack Bulldog glared.

Irritated with her lack of fortitude, she pressed her lips together, set her fingers on the keys, and began typing:

_Commander James Bond,_

_C.M.G., R.N._

_OBITUARY_

_A senior officer of the Ministry of Defence, Commander James Bond, C.M.G., R.N., is missing, believed killed, while on an official mission to Turkey._

She steepled her hands and took a breath in a vain attempt to ease the crushing weight off her chest.

_It therefore falls to my lot, as the Head of the Department he served so well, to give some account of this officer and of his outstanding services to his country._

She paused again, studiously ignoring the downpour outside. _Why must it always bloody __**rain**__ when I do these sorts of things_, she groused, returning dourly to her work.

_James Bond was born of a Scottish father, Andrew Bond of Glencoe, and a Swiss mother, Monique Delacroix, from the Canton de Vaud. His father being a foreign representative of the Vickers armaments firm, his early education, from which he inherited a first-class command of French and German, was entirely abroad. When he was eleven years of age, both his parents were killed in a climbing accident in the Aiguilles Rouges above Chamonix—_

She stopped short and glared at the bulk of text before her on the screen. _Have I become his biographer? _she frowned, jabbing the delete key with far more force than necessary, watching all the words run backwards, backwards, winding back the time. She followed the frenzied march of the cursor through a haze of sudden moisture that clouded her eyes. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she belatedly realized that she had erased too much.

She sighed, staring at the three words that remained on the screen.

_Commander James Bond,_

Would that she could rewrite his history, to return him his mother, his father…

His life.

But she was a doddering, old grandmother with myopic eyes, so the best she could do was list his honors, his accomplishments, and tell the story of his time on this cold earth, however brief it had been.

* * *

Note: James Bond's obituary is sampled from Ian Fleming's _You Only Live Twice.  
_Also: I wasn't really planning on making this any longer than a brief one-shot, so updates (for anyone who's interested) will be irregular.


End file.
